Musical Breathing Poop Dance

Let's see...what's new around here? My G-string, for one thing. My
#2 son is giving it a workout. He doesn't know how to play guitar.
That makes two of us. He's only 8. He saw a child's guitar at the
music store, and said he'd like one for Christmas. We went over to
look at it. $299. I hope Santa hits a big jackpot before Christmas.
I'm sure his elves could make one cheaper than that. If the kid is
really interested, I would spring for lessons. This boy has not shown
a lot of interest in a hobby, other than Thomas trains, Pokemon,
Yu-gi-oh, and GameBoy. He played baseball one year, but didn't
like it. #1 son took piano lessons from the time he was 4, because
he asked to take them. He gave them up around age 8. He hated
to practice. I think #2 could be trained. I taught myself to play
piano. That was before I had those soul-sucking energy-draining
high-maintenance offspring. I can't make time for the guitar.

HH has a CPAP machine now for his sleep apnea. It has taken
about a month for him to get it. Something went wrong with the
doctor's fax or computer or some such thing, and then the woman
supposed to bring it and show him how to set it up was out on
maternity leave for two months, so different offices had to provide
someone, and then he couldn't fit it into his work schedule. He's
only had it for a week. He says he feels a little bit better, but he's
not sure if it's all in his head. He has not been so hateful to us for
the last few days.

This CPAP thingy makes HH sound like Darth Vader. And it shoots
out a thin jet of air into my face. HH said, "Put a pillow there." Yes,
Dear. Apparently he doesn't know about the times I planned to put
one over his face to stop the snoring. Which is gone now, replaced
with Darth Vader inhalations and exhalations. Also, HH does not
thump his leg on the mattress. By 'thump', I mean raise to a height
of about 6 inches and slam to the mattress, jarring me awake about
6 times a night. The doctor from the sleep study told him it was
Restless Leg Syndrome, and that there are two kinds: one where
you know you are doing it, and another where you don't know. HH
said that he remembers some of them, but not all. So the doctor told
him he had both kinds. HH was quite proud.

I'll leave you with this little tale of horror...One of my afternoon kids
was not in class when the bell rang. He'd been tardy a few times, so
I asked the kids where he was. One answered, "He's in the bathroom."
Stupid Mrs. Hillbilly Mom had to ask, "What is he doing in there for so
long?" The minute that came out, I regretted it. But the kid didn't take
the bait. He added, "Well, there was this piece of toilet paper in the
middle of the floor...and it had some poop on it. Tardy Boy was in
there dancing a circle around it, goofing around. Then he stepped on
it. He's in there trying to clean the poop off his shoe."

Three minutes later, the kid came to class. "Walk straight to your chair.
Don't go anywhere else. And DON'T put your feet in the chair." He
looked baffled. "Whyyyyy?" We all stared at him. "We know what
you've been doing." He looked around. "Uh uh. That's not true."
He didn't even know what we were going to say.

Some days, you're better off to leave it at 'He's in the bathroom.'